Forever Always
by Princessintoe
Summary: Molly loves Sherlock. What happens after she is put in harms way because of that love? Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Hey I Love Sherlolly! They are definitely my favorite! If you like it please R&R!

* * *

Molly Hooper paced her apartment. Her annoying cat, Toby, paced alongside her. Ever since Sherlock came back from The Fall he had treated her differently. He no longer spit out rude comments or derogatory statements. In fact the only words that were shared were "pass me the slide" or "don't knock that beaker over". The teasing had ceased. To tell the truth she missed i. She missed the nonchalant statements about how idiotic she was or how her lips were to small. She missed Her Sherlock. After the fall Sherlock had spent a week at her flat. She continued to trip over her words and stutter but he seemed to not mind as much. He would laugh at her when she said the wrong thing (god that low grumble that came from his belly) and go back to his mind palace. He had then left for a year without so much as a tata. She was upset for sure. He was a total git. Then she went to his funeral. She saw John Watson shake with anger an pound his fists into what he thought was the grave of Sherlock Holmes. Molly Hooper mourned Sherlock for the first time. Molly swore she would not shed one more tear for that man. It had been a year and two months and she had shed more tears for the man that she had loved then she cared to mention.

She had made her decision. She was going to tell him she loved him. That she couldn't live without him. And though she knew he could never love another that she would be there for him. Forever. Always. She turned and grabbed her orange coat that hung off the edge o her couch. She slipped her terrible tennies on and walked out the door. She got outside and looked down at herself. She couldn't profess her love to Sherlock Holmes dressed like this.

She quickly entered her house and when to her closet. It was a small closet that held all her meager attire. She pulled a couple of options out. The black dress that she wore to Johns Christmas party. Obviously Sherlock noticed it but whether he liked it she didn't know. She discarded that item. The next one was a lovely purple dress. The dress exentuated her breasts and did nothing to show off her hips. She decided maybe not the right time for this one in particular. The third one was it. It was a three quarter sleeve dress that reached about mid thigh. It showed of her flat tummy and small hips. She knew it was perfect. She slipped it on and proceed to put on a pair of boots that made her legs look longer. She went out to her tiny kitchenette and found her notepad. She needed to write what she was going to say down. She began to write and write and write, But nothing that made any sense. She tore the paper off and tossed it into the rubbish bin. She then wrote three simple words onto the paper. She folded into her hand and headed out the door. She turned to lock up her flat.

As the key clicked in the lock she felt something hit her head. Her sight went black and the last thing she felt was someone catching her as she fell into complete darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

HEY! It's nice to see people reading this. If it is not obvious I am not from England or even close so please help on my terminology. Please R&R!

* * *

Sherlock walked rapidly through the corridors leading to the the morgue. He needed some samples from Molly and she wasn't answering her phone. He knew she was mad at him but he didn't care. He needed Molly for one thing and one thing only. He couldn't have feel anything more than a sense of duty towards her. He wouldn't.

_ Or could he?_

What the hell was that? He needed to gain control of his emotions. All of his emotions. Moriarty's body was never found. Either someone stole his body or he was... No Sherlock would not go there. Moriarty could not be alive. Sherlock had seen Moriarty put a bullet through his own brain. Sherlock watched as Moriarty died. He couldn't be alive.

_Or could he?_

God he needed to stop doing that. He entered the morgue. No Molly. A fresh cadaver was laid out on a slab. His heart rate increased as he got closer. The cadaver was a female with her dress torn open. Something was carved into her back. His breath caught as he saw the letters. I.O.U. Sherlock's mind began to race. He needed to calm down. He looked at the cadaver and stopped breathing. The measurements. The cadaver was Molly Hooper.

He couldn't breathe and his mind palace wasn't helping any. He let a silent tear fall. The only tear that was worthy of the death of Molly Hooper. He walked over to the left side of Molly's body and reached for her hand. A small slip of paper was tucked in her palm. As he went to grab it her hand closed around the paper. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly not moving an inch.

Sherlock stared down at the strong woman. He reached down to grab her carefully, under her knees and behind her neck. He ran up four flights of stairs to the ER. "Help me! Someone please help me!" A blonde nurse ran over. Her name tag read Mary M. She looked horrified as she identified the body. "Oh my God! Is that Molly? Shit, what happened?" Mary called over more nurses and they took her into another room. This was the last room they were gonna let him enter. He reached down to give Molly's hand a squeeze, and a small piece of paper fell into his hand. He crumpled it up and watched as they wheeled Molly into the OR. He returned to the waiting room and sat down. He stretched out his legs and folded his hands under his chin as if he were praying. Soon enough an hour and a half went by when he felt a paper cut on his finger. He looked at the paper he had mindlessly folded and unfolded. He stretched it out and read the three words written on it,

I Love You.


	3. Chapter 3

If you really like this you should definitely R&R! Please!

* * *

Sherlock stared at the note in his hands. He didn't understand how three simple words could make his heart stop. He closed his eyes and ran to his mind palace. He stood in the hallway, leading to his emotions. The door was usually locked, but today the door was inappreciably open. Just enough so that he could peak in. He looked through the door and saw two pale legs hanging off the edge off of a couch. Obviously a pair of woman's legs. Her hips were covered by the edge of a purple shirt. His purple shirt. He knew it because it was Molly's favo... The door shut with a resounding thump. His eyes opened as if someone had slapped him in the face. He stared into the blue eyes of the nurse who had taken Molly. Mary was her name. Then he realized she had slapped him.

"What the hell are you doing out here? And how the hell did this happen to Mousy Molly? You have some explaining to do Mr. Holmes?" She sat down with a humph in the chair next to him. He just stared at her in exasperation. He opened his mouth to say something but was interupted by John's heavy footsteps. He stood up and looked to him.

"Sherlock? What the... Apparently I am Molly's emergency contact. Why are you here?"

He stopped and looked at Sherlock for awhile. "John. I was the person that found Molly. Judging by your expression you were not told the details of Molly's 'accident' persay. I found Molly barely breathing in the morgue. The letters I.O.U. were written in her back by a four... no five inch blade. She had suffered extreme head trauma and by the look on Mary Morstan's face, Molly is in an induced coma. Now, John, what was your other question? Oh yes. Why am I still here? Yes, I know you didn't say it but your questioning eyebrows lead me to infer. I am still here because I owe her this much. It is my fault that she is in this predicament in the first place. And this." He held out the faded paper. John took it out of his hand and stared at it. He blinked a couple of times then looked at Sherlock.

"Sherlock... Did you find this with Molly?" Sherlock nodded. "And..." Sherlock looked scared. John finally understood. Molly loved Sherlock. Sherlock felt responsibility for Molly. Sherlock had to be confusing the feelings with... Then he saw his eyes. The hazy blue was tired. The crinkles under his eyes were more defined. Sherlock's hands shook. His hands never shook. Molly was unleashing feelings in the callous detective. Molly meant something to him. And not just as someone who he could simply used. Her almost death had changed the detective.

John looked over to see a curious blonde haired woman staring at him. She was beautiful. He had never seen someone so angelic in his whole entire life. The way her eyes turned up at the corners, and her eyebrows wound together in worry. Her lips were a pale pink and her eyes were tired but she was stunning. He walked over to her and took her hand, "Hi, my name is John. I was called by someone. I am here for Molly Hooper."

She grasped his hand tightly and said, "Mary. That was me on the phone. Yes, you were her emergency contact. However, her mother has showed up, quite stewed. She is in there with Molly now. You do not have to stay." She leaned in a little closer, "and take that blasted Holmes with you as well." She turned and walked away. John watched her sashay back to the double doors, heading towards Molly's room. John turned to his friend, only to find him heading towards the doors that Mary had just pushed through. That man was a bloody idiot.


	4. Chapter 4

I just want to thank everyone who favored or followed this story. And I want to thank **Lola Cola 7 **the uplifting reviews!

* * *

Sherlock quietly walked down the hallway, following Mary to what he assumed was Molly's room. Whenever Mary stopped to check out another patients charts he would slip in the doorway of another room or pretend to be busy with other nurses, asking them for directions to a room. He thought that she had no idea, until she turned around just outside of room 221.

"Sherlock Holmes, what the hell do you think your doing?" She planted her feet and put her hands on her hips. Sherlock took a minute to respond, "Well, Molly is my pathologist. I need her at full capacity. If you don't mind I would like to check in on her every so often just to see if she is... o.k." He glanced down at the end of his sentence to the note in his pocket. Mary's eyebrows rose, but she didn't say anything, just showed him into the room. Sherlock stopped in his tracks. A woman who looked like an older version of Molly sat sunken in by the bed. Her skin was wrinkled from smoke, judging by the smell, and her hair was a light shade of grey. Otherwise every thing was precisely Molly.

Sherlock entered the room and the older version of Molly looked up. Her eyes were the same brown, doe-like eyes that Molly's was. She squinted and as she stood up to greet him she wavered a little onto her left foot then back onto her right. She reached for the chair. She was clearly inebriated. Sherlock just let out a sigh. He didn't deal with drunk people. She slowly walked over to shake his hand.

"The names Maggie. Maggie Joule-Hooper. Molly is my daughter and I have no bloody idea who you are, so you must be Sherlock. Judging by the coat and the "adorable black curls" as Molly describes them. You look tired, probably haven't slept in at least twenty-four, no twenty-six, hours. You are a past drug addict and your eating habits are atrocious. You are an unfeeling man, which means either you think my Molly is going to wake up soon, or you care for her. Highly unlikely, is the latter. Have I missed anything, Dear?"

Now, Sherlock was never speechless, but this woman was a surprise. He had never been deduced by anyone, other than Mycroft. He blinked a couple of times, then stated, "Ms. Hooper, it is a pleasure to meet you. Though I do have to tell you I do not appreciate being thoroughly deduced in front of..." He looked behind him but didn't see Mary anywhere. That was odd, a moment ago she was standing there.

Maggie went and sat down in her old spot next to the bed, sashaying her hips back and forth. She was more confident than Molly. He went over to the window and went into his mind palace. He needed to place his newly acquired information into Molly's room. When he entered the foyer he saw another pair of shoes at the entrance. A small brown pair that Molly always wore. That was peculiar. He entered the rest of the rooms to find small things that Molly wore or had. In his study he found a pair of glasses sitting on top of a romance novel. In his kitchen he found a cup of tea with lipstick that she wore on it. She was taking over his mind.

He was taken back into the real world when Maggie Hooper made an abrupt move from the bed. Sherlock went towards her until he heard, "Mummy, is that you?" Sherlock stopped in his tracks. Molly was alive. His Molly was alive.


	5. Chapter 5

I really hope you like this chapter. I truly love this chapter. I do know Sherlock is a little OOC but other than that I think its great! Thanks to **GotHimASandwich. **That was a really nice review! And thanks to all who favorite and followed this story. It really makes me happy! R&R Please and thanks! This story is also on Archive of Our Own under my other account by the same name. There are more chapters up with that one but don't read ahead! Could be dangerous.

* * *

Molly's eyes fluttered open. Her head was in so much pain and her back felt like someone had carved her back. She tried to sit up but her body wouldn't move. She moaned and looked to her right. She saw her mum standing by her side. "Mummy, is that you?" Her eyes hurt so bad and all she wanted to do was close them and go to sleep. She saw movement over by the window, just past her mum. He was there. Standing at the window, staring at her.

Her mum moved fast out of her vision into the hallway, screaming for a nurse. Sherlock moved over to the vacated spot by her bed. His eyes were full of worry and compassion, emotions Molly had only seen on his face once before. His hand went to hers at her side. She tried to grasp his hand but she couldn't move her hand at all. This was starting to scare her. No motor functions. She must have been hit hard. Wait... She had been hit in the back of the head. She was going to tell Sherlock that she... Oh No! Where was the note! She had to find it. She began to sit up, but once again she couldn't move.

"Sherlock... I can't move. Sherlock..." She whispered. Sherlock's face fell and he stood up quickly.

Molly's mom was bounding back into the room followed by two nurses. One she recognized as Mary. Her partner in crime. Her best friend. She tried to call out to Mary but no words were coming out. She felt a warm liquid drip down her face from her nose. God she was bleeding. Her eyes began to close and her body felt heavy. She knew what was happening but she didn't want it to end like this. She had some sort of intracranial pressure. She knew she needed to keep breathing or bad things would happen. She forced herself to intake breath and let it out slowly, each breath becoming more painful than the last. She could vaguely hear to very distinct voices calling out to the nursing crew on what was to be done. Her mother, a neurologist who lost someone on the table at the age of 30, and Sherlock, who knew more than he probably should. They were both shouting the same things as if there brains were connected. Her mum's voice was slowly faltering as she heard long beeps coming across the monitor. Sherlock's voice stopped altogether. She needed him to say something or she was going to let go. It hurt too much to breath. She needed just something she could hold on to.

_I Love You Molly Hooper_

Sherlock's deep baritone filled her mind. Had she died and gone to heaven? She felt a push on her chest and a bright light flashed before her eyes. She heard Mary's strained voice yelling for an oxygen mask and she felt something pressed over her mouth. Her eyes opened and she could see four, no three nurses and Sherlock standing over her. Her breath was less painful and she could feel her toes. She wiggled them and smiled, well kind of smiled. Mary squealed and let a couple of tears fall. She was alive. Alive because of Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to Renaissancebooklover108 for commenting they were really great. I hope y'all are liking this story. R&R please. Makes my day when you do... This story is also on archive of our own under the same username but don't read ahead. Could be dangerous. How many you can guess the name of the song at the end of this chapter.

* * *

Molly dreams and dreams and dreams. All dreams ending the same way. She is dying in Sherlock's arms. He is crying and before she gets to say "I love you" the dream ends, and she assumes she is dead. Each time she wakes up her face is tear stained and she is gasping for breath. Mum is always there, which is surprising because she was never there when Molly was a child. Always at the hospital. Saving someone's life. Until that day she wasn't saving someone, she killed them. It was a difficult procedure involving ten to fourteen hours in the operating room. Maggie lost grip of a utensil and made an incision that killed the patient. She was never the same after that. Her hands would always shake, and alcohol became her new best friend. Molly lost contact with her mum when she went to med school. Now she was in her room, brushing away her nightmares.

Sherlock would make an occasional appearance and ask how she was doing, or would rather tell her how she is doing. She dare not lie to Sherlock, he knew everything. He knew about Molly's nightmares even though he never brought them up. He didn't know the particulars other than the fact he was in them and they were sad. He never wanted to see Molly like this ever again. He needed to find who did this to Molly and why. Of course Moriarty had something to do with it based on the message he left her on her back.

Molly knew something was written on her back but she didn't know what. She knew that it made Sherlock uncomfortable and uneasy. He didn't want to tell her and she didn't want to know because she feared the worst. She knew it was meant to hurt Sherlock, but what she didn't know was why her. She didn't mean anything to him. That's what she thought anyway.

One night a couple of days before she was to be released from the hospital Sherlock appeared at her window. She had just awoken from another one of her dreams and she was crying and breathing hard. He stared at her for a couple of seconds, then did something so uncharacteristically like Sherlock. He walked over lifted her gingerly off the bed and set her on his lap. He held her close and she cried for a long time. He just held her and brushed her hair out of her face and shh'd her as a parent would shh a child.

When she was finally calmed down enough so that her sobs turned into hiccups he asked her a question.

"Molly? What do you remember from that day?"

Molly shook her head, "I don't really remember a lot. Just that I was going to see... uhm... I was going to see... you, and I was locking up my flat when if felt someone hit me with something... and then... someone caught me as I fell... and... I don't remember anything. I'm sorry Sherlock."

She twisted her face into his shirt and tried to suppress quiet sobs. "It's o.k Molly. It is fine. I will not be mad at you for not remembering anything. Just know that if or when you do you can come and talk to me."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"What is written on my back?" The question was barely a whisper but he heard her as if she had shouted it at the top of her lungs.

"Molly..."

"Tell me Sherlock"

"I.O.U." He whispered into her hair. She tensed up at the words. She knew those letters were going to scar. She had that godforsaken phrase on her back for the rest of her life. She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to believe it.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around her tighter and began to sing in a soft baritone, " Golden slumber kiss your eyes, Smiles await you when you rise. Sleep, pretty baby, Do not cry, And I'll sing you a lullaby. Care you know not, Therefore sleep, While I o'er you watch do keep. Sleep, pretty darling, Do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby." And as the sleeping Molly Hooper rested against his shoulders Sherlock was content.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey my favorite people in the world! How's life? Its been awhile. I hope you like this chapter. Kind of a cliffhanger. Once again I just want to thank all my reviewer Renaissancebooklover108. Thanks so much. The reviews make me want to keep writing. I also want to thank my followers and favoriters. God I feel like I just won a prize... Maybe I will win something.

* * *

Molly walked up the steps to her flat. Her mum was watching cautiously for when she were to fall or something unexpected. Molly put on a brave front but she was terrified. She was terrified Moriarty would find her and take her. Scared she would die in her sleep. Scared Sherlock didn't truly love her. Sure, he said it but did he mean it? Honest to God she had no bloody idea. They had spent one beautiful night in the hospital wrapped in each others arms (well she wrapped in his long arms as she cried) but it felt so right. So natural. She entered her flat and went straight to her kitchenette and set the kettle on, with an eager Toby at her heels. A good cup of tea always made her feel better.

She didn't realize she had zoned out until the kettle began to whistle. How long had she been standing there staring at the fridge? She shook her head and reached for the kettle. She grabbed it and it burnt her hand. She had forgotten about the broken spot on her kettle. She dropped it back onto the stove and it sloshed and clashed. Her mum came running into kitchenette.

"Molly? Are you okay, darling?" She ran over and grasped Molly's red hand. Molly looked at her mum as she went into doctor mode. Pouring cold water over her burn and wrapping her hand in a paper towel, she asked where the first-aid kit was. Molly told her and she went in search of it.

Molly looked around her flat. There was something off about her flat. Something was out-of-place. It was almost like... She ran to her sitting room and looked at her book shelf surrounding her telly. The books were arranged usually by color, but now several books were out-of-place. She picked the first one out of its place and flipped through it. One word was highlighted Don't. Molly was puzzled. She picked up the next book and found the highlighted word. She then realized it was a message and she began to write it down.

When the last book was put back in its place she read the message. She dropped the paper to the floor and backed away from the book-case. She backed farther and farther away until she was out the door. She knew only one place that would be safe to stay. One person safe enough to tell. She hailed a cab and when he asked where she was going one address popped to her mind. "221B Baker Street"


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites! I really appreciate it. Keep doing it.**

* * *

The cab pulled up to Baker Street. Molly quickly paid the cabbie and ran to the door. She knocked with her burnt hand and she screamed in pain. John had seen her come out of the cab through the window and was down in a flash. When John got to Molly she was crying, crumpled on the steps. He poked his head in the door and yelled for Sherlock. Sherlock came running to find Molly Hooper crying on his doorstep. A sight he never would have guessed to see. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside. She was so small and frail in his long arms. She continued to weep up the stairs and onto Sherlock's couch.

She was nestled in close to his chest and his heart was beating erraticly. She seemed to have noticed, though she didn't stop her tears, she placed one tiny little hand against his heart and looked up into his eyes.

"Sherlock?" She whispere through silent tears, "I was finally home from the hospital and I was making tea and I burnt my hand and mum was taking care of it and..."

"Molly. Slow down we need you to breath more than we need to hear the story." John said walking into the kitchen to make Molly a cuppa.

"Sherlock." She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, "I knew something was wrong with my flat. I saw that my books were all messed with so i picked one off the shelf. A word was highlited. I figured... well I don't know... i guessed that maybe it was a message or something. So i pulled down all the books that were out of place and wrote down all the highlited words. And it... and it had a message."

Sherlocks breathing stopped for he knew what she was going to say.

"It said _Don't forget I can still burn the heart out of you_." She had memorized it as soon as she had written it down. When Sherlock had asked for her help with faking his death Sherlock had explained why he had to do it. He had used those exact words. Moriarty was going to burn the heart out of Sherlock, one little spark at a time. She was frightened. She began to shiver and Sherlock absent mindly pulled her closer. He rested his chin on top of her head.

John came in with the cup of tea and nearly dropped it at the sight. Sherlock was showing sentiment. John backed up and returned to the kitchen to wait out the moment.

Molly fell asleep to the rythem of Sherlock's breathing. Sherlock not soon later fell asleep. He was oddly at ease with the little mousy Molly Hooper asleep on his chest.


End file.
